A Nomad's Life

Packing. Again.

As I attempted to squeeze my ever-expanding earring collection into my ever-shrinking (I will record measurements one day for proof) jewellery box, I found myself wondering what it might be like to live in the same country, the same city, or even the same house, all your life.

Having divided my last eighteen years between three countries, five cities, and ten schools, it is a concept I find almost impossible to grasp. The idea of growing up with the same friends, surrounded by childhood memories in the same places intrigues me. I am both envious of and puzzled by the people who walk down the street and wave to every second person: a friend from high school, an old drama teacher, the owner of a favourite restaurant.

Take the boyfriend for instance. With him, an intended five-minute stop at the local shopping centre can easily turn into an hour-long social gathering.

They are the ones who have remained in a place with which they have a shared history and a deep, almost spiritual, connection; a place that they belong to as much as it belongs to them. In short, a place that is, irrefutably, Home.

As for me, the word ‘home’ has simply come to represent the location of my bed at any given time and the space around it in which I keep most of my belongings. I guess it does get lonely at times, but having known it all my life, I really cannot imagine living any other way.

An old friend in a similar situation once said to me: “we have no roots; we are simply islands, floating from one place to the next, wherever the current chooses to take us”. Perhaps this is true, or perhaps we are more like mangroves, able to spread our roots. Whatever it is, I am just grateful for the force that has carried me from China’s bustling streets to Florida’s tropical cities and Australia’s sun-soaked beaches.

Eventually, I might find a place to drop anchor and take root, but right now, I’m just enjoying the ride...And with Bali and Switzerland on the horizon, I don’t think I need to worry about the current letting up just yet!

Proper English, where art thou?

Sitting in my Music History lecture last week, I once again came to the sad realisation that we are butchering the English language. Or at the very least, mutilating it beyond recognition.

Despite the sadistic timetable allocation (the last of four two-hour lectures every Monday) and content-heavy nature of my Music History course, the lecturer’s endless wealth of knowledge – and refreshing linguistic ability to express it – made the lectures worth attending. I never ceased to be amazed at the buffet of delicious adjectives he so effortlessly produced; always doing the beautiful music we studied justice.

So, having just marked our latest batch of essays, it came as no surprise that he felt obliged to comment upon our (often hilarious) grammatical errors, spelling mistakes and misuse of vocabulary. However, as my ears perked up at the mention of “the subtle nuances of the English language”, I noticed that not everyone seemed to share my enthusiasm. No, the whispered (and some not so whispered) remarks of my neighbours – “Who cares? It still makes sense...”, “God, he’s so pedantic!” and “Can you explain that again, in English?” – made that quite clear.

In a world where words longer than three syllables are now compulsively shortened with an ‘o’ (for your speaking laziness convenience) and we avoid typing out full words like the swine flu, our lecturer is one of a dying breed.

Yes, we can blame Australia’s less-than-satisfactory education system; where spelling and grammar are nonchalantly sacrificed for longer playtime and extra PE classes. Or maybe this overwhelming technological boom is the real instigator for “dis kewl nu way 2 txt 2 ur bffls”. Overshadowed by the blinding light of our iPhone and iPad screens, it seems that our appreciation for the English language is fast fading into the darkness, along with the ancient Walkman and paperback novel.

But somehow, I don’t think “my primary school teacher liked sports better than English” or “it’s how everyone writes these days” is going to quite cut it at our next job interview. After all, the pen (or keyboard, if you prefer) is mightier than the sword.

So boys and girls, next time you reach for that glossy Cosmo or FHM magazine, opt instead for a good piece of literature.

Note: think Jane Austen, NOT Stephenie Meyer.